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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290659">Violent Delights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowardTheStars/pseuds/TowardTheStars'>TowardTheStars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>October [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Blood, Blood and Injury, Criminal Masterminds, Drama, Inspired by Fanfiction, Kissing, London Crime, London Underground, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Organized Crime, POV Second Person, POV Sirius Black, Romance, Snirius Discord's StarPrince Kinktober 2020, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:55:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowardTheStars/pseuds/TowardTheStars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an accident. Or not really. Nothing’s ever an accident for the Prince. He’s too brilliant for such trivial, mortal problems. </p>
<p>No, the Prince had been watching you and had planned every move, and you had stumbled into it like a drunk bull in the quintessential china shop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sirius Black &amp; Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Sirius Black &amp; James Potter, Sirius Black &amp; Lucius Malfoy, Sirius Black/OC, Sirius Black/Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>October [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>StarPrince Kinktober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Violent Delights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/910519">These Violent Delights</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile">pasiphile</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for Day 30 of the Snirius Kinktober: Blood. </p>
<p>This is heavily inspired by one of my favorite fanfictions of all time - These Violent Delights by pasiphile. It's an incredibly entertaining, impressive work that I must have read at least five times. I highly recommend checking it out, with no need to be in the Sherlock fandom. It's also written in the second POV, which I why I have done so here. </p>
<p>Sirius Black is Sebastian Moran. Severus Snape is Jim Moriarty. Please read These Violent Delights.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not even eight o’clock yet when a gang of acne-strewn pre-pubescent teenagers tries to mug you. It’s almost cute, you think, as one kid pulls a knife on you.</p>
<p>This part of London is a far cry from where you grew up: a fucking ancient estate in the middle of the beautiful English countryside. Sure, you never saw Father and Mother was a fucking nightmare, but you never woke up to an awkward mugging where the kids are so out of their depth it’s not even funny.</p>
<p>At worst, you woke up to scones. At best, you woke up to Mother’s screeching. Good riddance, you think as you glare at the kid. You couldn’t stand it anymore there, so you ran off and joined the military, figuring shooting things was good enough for you, and when you got back – dishonorable discharge you think proudly – you found yourself in a shitty little apartment in the worst part of London.</p>
<p>The leader of the measly boy band hisses something at you, but you haven’t had your coffee yet, and frankly, it’s too early for you to care. You lower your sunglasses – yes, you wear sunglasses even though the sun avoids London like a nun does a whorehouse – and give the kid one of your patented glares.</p>
<p>James used to say that glare could stop an old woman’s heart. James also said you could come live with him – another posh aristocrat in another posh countryside manor – but you couldn’t stomach that shit anymore.</p>
<p>You ran off and now you kill people for a living, but hey, you’ve had worst gigs. Professional hitman is perhaps not what you imagined yourself being as a snotty, irritating child, but life is never what you expect.</p>
<p>You’re good at killing people. People pay for other people to be killed. Two plus two equals four. The sky is blue. Might as well make some money while you’re at it.</p>
<p>But shit, you need to find some better assignments. At least so you can move someplace without rats.</p>
<p>The kids scatter. You smile wide and bright and step into some coffee chain store to order the most sickeningly sweet, espresso high drink the menu offers.</p>
<p>It's eight o’clock in the morning, and the day has just begun.</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>That afternoon is the first time you hear about the Prince.</p>
<p>You realize pretty quickly, given Lucius’s sputtering, that you’re not supposed to talk about him. No one is. A criminal mastermind doesn’t become a criminal mastermind with everyone sharing stories about him around the campfire.</p>
<p>Bellatrix doesn’t care. She’s done work for him and believes she’s got a special sort of immunity that Lucius and the rest of the world lack, so she smiles her shark smile.</p>
<p>“Black, seriously? You’ve got your head up your ass or something?”</p>
<p>You shrug, smile guiltily as if you had casually forgotten that the twin towers fell or that America committed war crimes in the Middle East.</p>
<p>Bellatrix leans back in her chair, observing you through the grim light of the dirty bar. Lucius hates it here, but Bellatrix loves it, and you mostly do what Bellatrix says anyway.</p>
<p>Also, it’s not like criminals can be picky about their choice of locale.</p>
<p>“Well, Black,” Bellatrix drawls, staring at you through hooded eyes. “The Prince is terrifying. He took out Riddle, set up his little empire, and you don’t ever, <em>ever</em> fuck with him. You do and,” she mimes a gun, pointing it at you and setting it off. “You’re dead.”</p>
<p>“But-,” you say, curiosity piqued. “He can’t be-.”</p>
<p>Lucius twitches. “There’s legends about him,” he whispers. “The kind that sounds fake, made up. Can’t be real, you think. But here’s the catch, Black. They’re fucking real.”</p>
<p>You sit back and take a long sip of your drink. <em>Now</em> you’re curious. “Okay, so what?”</p>
<p>“So what?” Lucius splutters again. Bellatrix laughs.</p>
<p>“Oh, Black, you’ve got to be more careful,” she coos. “Or else you’re going to find yourself in a nice toasty acid bath.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but-,” you pause. “You guys ever seen him?”</p>
<p>“No, you don’t-,” Lucius says, fear in his voice. “You don’t see him. Even you-.”</p>
<p>Bellatrix cuts him off. “The man owns London, Black. He’s so dangerous that he makes us look like kittens. And I know that look in your eyes.”</p>
<p>“What look?” you ask innocently, well-aware of what look she’s talking about.</p>
<p>“<em>That </em>look,” Bellatrix replies. “Anyway, it won’t be like you can find him. I’ve worked with him, and it’s all cryptid shit. No one knows him. No one sees him. But he’s like a spider. We’re all in his web, just flies ripe for the picking.”</p>
<p>Her smile is enough to turn blood to ice, but you stare back nonchalantly as if you weren’t thinking of doing exactly what she advised against.</p>
<p>Anyway, like they said – it’s not like you can find him even if you wanted to.</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>You shouldn’t keep thinking about him, but you do.</p>
<p>The Prince, you think. How fucking pretentious.</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>The next month, you go on a job with Bellatrix. You like working with her – she’s dangerous and terrifying, and she’s good at what she does. Basically, killing people.</p>
<p>Some old fart is paying for you to assassinate his much younger and admittedly very hot political rival. It’s an exciting job, but a bit sad, considering how hot that young political rival just happens to be. It feels wrong to remove him from the world, especially when you consider how good it would feel to fuck him.</p>
<p>But you don’t pick the targets. So you line up the rifle and take your shot.</p>
<p>You never miss.</p>
<p>Bellatrix’s stealing some files from his office as you snipe him sitting at the pool. You’re supposed to meet up with her, but something catches your eye. Your gut tells you to stop.</p>
<p>You stop.</p>
<p>It’s nearly unnoticeable. That shadow at the edge of your perception. But it’s there – barely.</p>
<p>You make yourself as invisible as you can manage and stalk up to the shadow. It’s hiding in the woods around the target’s house. You rest your hand on your gun, primed to take it out and shoot the bastard if needed.</p>
<p>You don’t need to because the shadow is gone. For a moment, you think you’re wrong. An overactive imagination fueled by gods knows what.</p>
<p>Then you see a neon pink sticky note placed eye-level on one of the trees.</p>
<p>You stare at it. It’s a fucking smiling face. The words ‘Great Job!’ written in an exaggerated loopy style. You stare at it for a long moment and then pluck it from the tree and fold it into your pocket.</p>
<p>‘Great Job!’ you think snidely. You’re about to leave – you’ve still got to meet up with Bellatrix – when you see it. It’s a small glimmer among the grass, and you almost miss it. You kneel, curious.</p>
<p>It’s a silver cufflink. A coiling snake etched into the design. You look for the other one, but you don’t find it. You pocket it, scan the woods once more, and leave.</p>
<p>You find Bellatrix, and when you’re safe enough away, you turn to her.</p>
<p>“Who gave you that job?” you half-snarl. Bellatrix smiles slowly.</p>
<p>“Who do you think?”</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>You think about him more and more.</p>
<p>You’ve placed the sticky note on your refrigerator door, the pink smiling face mocking you. ‘Great Job!’ Fucking prick.</p>
<p>You keep the cufflink in your pocket. You aren’t sure why you carry it around everywhere you go, but you do. It makes you feel like he’s there, always. You start to get the sense that he is.</p>
<p>The Prince.</p>
<p>You think it’s all bullshit. That the Prince is bullshit.</p>
<p>You know, though, deep down, that it’s not.</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>“Black, what are you doing tonight?” Lucius asks, voice tinny over the phone. Still, you can sense his panic.</p>
<p>You glance over at the guy lying next to you. He’s asleep, covers pulled up to his chest. He’s a good-looking man with nice brown hair and blue eyes. You found him at some bar, and he took you back home.</p>
<p> “Well,” you say slowly, “I was going to find someone to fuck.” Maybe a girl this time, you think. Not Ryan, if that’s his name. You can’t really remember. Not like it matters.</p>
<p>Lucius lets out a huff of derision, the fucking prude.</p>
<p>“What? You’ve got something better?”</p>
<p>It sounds as if Lucius is walking quickly, which is what he does when he’s nervous. “Yes, no. You know the art deals I’ve been doing? With the stolen Monet’s and that shit?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m supposed to meet someone about it tonight.”</p>
<p>You shrug. “And…?”</p>
<p>“I can bring one other person with me. I was going to bring Bellatrix, but she’s in Vienna murdering some Chinese businessman, and I’ve got no one else.”</p>
<p>“Aww, you’re making me blush,” you say, saccharine enough to make your own teeth rot.  You can hear Lucius grit his teeth.</p>
<p>“Will you come?” he forces out.</p>
<p>You think for a moment. You’ve really got nothing better to do.</p>
<p>“Sure,” you agree lazily. “Just some business meeting? Make sure no one shoots you?”</p>
<p>You can sense Lucius’s annoyance through the phone. It’s tempered, however, with fear. Lucius has always been the nervous type, but not like this.</p>
<p>“What time?” you ask.</p>
<p>“9:00,” Lucius says. He pauses, swallows hard. “It’s…I need you on your best behavior. No acting up. Nothing,” he stresses.</p>
<p>You frown. That’s what you’d been hoping for.</p>
<p>“Malfoy, mate,” you say, but Lucius cuts you off.</p>
<p>“No, Sirius, shut up. This isn’t…the meeting is with the Prince. So don’t fuck it up.” He emphasizes each word, and if you hadn’t already known how serious this was, you do now. You don’t call each other by your forename unless it’s really, really, <em>really </em>serious.</p>
<p>And it’s not like your name’s Sirius for nothing.</p>
<p>The neon pink smiling face leers at you. Shit, you think. You really shouldn’t be this excited.</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>It had started, like some bad B-movie, in an abandoned warehouse. The dirt made Lucius freak, so you half-suspected the Prince had planned that. You’re there at 10, and then the car pulls up. Black, tinted windows – you almost groan. How cliché. How abhorrently tasteless.</p>
<p>Two bodyguards come out – hulking men that look like they could kill both you and Lucius with half their pinky. You’re not that scared though. You’ll move faster, and you never miss.</p>
<p>Then the back door open. The next person you see literally trips stepping out of the car. It’s this rod of a man, skinny and rigid with fear. He’s got dark hair and dark eyes and a nose that would make a mother cry. He’s pale and looks like he’s trying very hard not to cry.</p>
<p>The accountant, you think. You dismiss him.</p>
<p>Then it’s him – it’s the <em>Prince.</em> The moment you had been waiting for and well it’s – underwhelming.</p>
<p>It’s this scholarly, erudite looking fellow. Waifish blond hair and a thick brow and cool brown eyes. You meet his gaze quickly, and well, you would have expected more. It’s not like you hadn’t been obsessing over him for months.</p>
<p>You almost sigh. They always tell you that you shouldn’t meet legends. Always disappointing, and the Prince is no exception.</p>
<p>Lucius and the Prince sit, and they begin to talk. Lucius looks like he’s nearly shitting himself, the Prince sits unbothered, and you tune out their conversation, focusing instead on the behavior.</p>
<p>The bodyguards look ready for an order, but not ready to kill. Their hands are near their guns, but not <em>on </em>their guns. You relax a bit. Maybe it’s really just business.</p>
<p>You watch the Prince, and even his voice sounds wrong to you. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t know this man, and your overactive imagination doesn’t mean shit. So what if he’s not what you’re expecting? He could still probably kill you just as well.</p>
<p>The fact that you can’t see him leaving you a pink sticky note is what bothers you.</p>
<p>You’re growing bored, so you shift your attention to the accountant. He’s clumsy and clearly frightened. His eyes dart nervously from his notebook to his boss. You nearly pity the poor fellow; he looks painfully out of his depth.</p>
<p>He drops his pencil, and when he picks it up, his gaze meets yours for the briefest of seconds.</p>
<p>It’s enough.</p>
<p>The meeting wraps up. Lucius turns to leave, and when you don’t follow, he stops and stares agape.</p>
<p>“Black,” he hisses. You gesture him onwards.</p>
<p>“Go on,” you say, “I’ll be out in a minute.”</p>
<p>Lucius looks at you like you’re both utterly insane and a dead man walking, which you figure you are. He leaves, and the Prince stares at you.</p>
<p>You reach into your pocket, raising a hand in a placating gesture when the two bodyguards pull out their guns. The Prince doesn’t say anything, just watches you, so they don’t shoot.</p>
<p>“Here,” you say, throwing the cufflink with perfect precision. “You lost this.”</p>
<p>The accountant catches it, holds it in his hand, and then he smiles. The smile does something to you, makes you feel hot and heady and turns your mouth dry. You want to kiss him, you realize. Or better, you want him to fuck you.</p>
<p>“Mhmm,” the Prince hums, voice low and rich and velvety and shooting straight to your groin. “I was afraid I’d misplaced this.” He examines it for a moment and then turns to the car. “Oh well, kill him.”</p>
<p>You dodge a second too late, a bullet clipping you in your shoulder. The pain sears through you, but the adrenaline hits you so strongly that you don’t feel anything – just the gun now in your hands and the movement of your body.</p>
<p>You move fast, and you never fucking miss.</p>
<p>The bodyguards go down. The blonde has pulled a gun on you too, so you shoot him, dodging behind a pillar as he tries to shoot you. You don’t miss.</p>
<p>The bullet wound makes you bleed, and the blood loss makes you light-headed. Your knees give out, and you sink against the pillar, world blurring slightly. You hear footsteps and then see two black loafers. You stare at them stupidly as they turn from ankles to hips to shoulders to -.</p>
<p>The Prince stares at you, and he <em>sees</em>. He’s staring straight into your soul and understanding everything there is to understand about you.</p>
<p>You’re so unbelievably stupid when you lunge forward and try to kiss him.</p>
<p>He slams your head into the cement block, palm pressed hard against your forehead. You grunt out in pain, and the edges of your vision darken. Fuck, that hurt.</p>
<p>You’re panting now – from the adrenaline and the blood loss and his fucking <em>presence</em>. The clumsy accountant is gone, the mask shrugged away the minute you threw him the cufflink. What’s left is – is the <em>Prince.</em></p>
<p>Your heart rate jacks up, and you stare at him, needing those black eyes looking at you like a man in a desert craves water. He watches you lazily, mouth turned upwards in a contemptuous smirk.</p>
<p>“Sirius Black,” he says, and your name on his lips is possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. He needs to say it again, you think. His hand is still on your forehead, the point of contact burning a brand into your skin.</p>
<p>You think of him pulling at your hair, of forming a fist and <em>yanking</em>, and it would be kind of funny how aroused you are, if it wasn’t so fucking sad.</p>
<p>You smile at him the best you can with a split lip and blood on your teeth. You hit the pillar too hard – fucking idiot – but at least you’re not a bullet-ridden corpse on the cement floor.</p>
<p>He blinks and then his hand slips down. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, and if you weren’t already hard, you are now.</p>
<p>“Did I do a great job?” you say with a grin that you know is half-charming and half-annoying to all hell. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.</p>
<p>The smirk dips into a frown. He stares at you neutrally, thumb still pulling lightly on your lip. He’s got blood on his thumb now – <em>your blood</em> – and your brain short-circuits for a moment.</p>
<p>His eyes flicker as he thinks. You stare enraptured him. With his other hand, he presses his thumb into your bullet wound. The nail digs into the torn flesh, and you gasp in pain, repressing the urge to sucker punch the man. You stay still, even though the pain sears your shoulder and you have to bite down your scream. It seems to please him, and he looks at you again.</p>
<p>“Sloppy,” he says in that dark, velvet voice.</p>
<p>“They’re dead. I’m not.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re not,” he mummers, staring at your lips and the blood on his thumb. You can’t help it – how <em>could</em> you have helped it? You dart out your tongue and lick at the finger. He moves languidly, slipping his thumb into your mouth. You suck on it like your life depends on it and taste the coppery tang of blood.</p>
<p>You stare at him the whole time, and even though he looks utterly unperturbed by you acting as if his thumb was a certain other body part, you can tell he’s looking at you. And not just looking at you like you do with everyone else. He’s <em>looking </em>at you like he sees your soul and wants what’s in it.</p>
<p>You think you’ll give it to him. And whatever else he could possibly want.</p>
<p>“I’ve got a job for you,” the Prince says, and again, his voice heads straight to your cock. There’s something about how he speaks – the sheer power and arrogance, the way he knows he’s better, the way a man who owns London is supposed to speak.</p>
<p>You give a particularly good suck in response. The nail of his thumb digs into the side of your cheek. Put your cock in me, you think. Please.</p>
<p>The Prince smirks as if he saw exactly what you thought. You think he actually did, so you humor him with a strong mental image of him fucking your brains out.</p>
<p>“Can you kill for me, Sirius Black?” he asks, voice dropping as if he was speaking to a lover. He pulls out his thumb, and you suppress a whine at its absence.</p>
<p>“I can do a whole lot more,” you say with a wink. The Prince gives a small smile and then grabs your cheek. His nails cut hard against your cheekbone, and you suppress a moan.</p>
<p>“Yes you can, can’t you?” He leans closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek and his mouth so close to yours that you only have to shift forward and you’d be kissing him. You want to so badly, but the hand on your cheek stops you.</p>
<p>“Whatever you want,” you flirt, the whatever clearly indicated. You want him to kiss you. You want him to touch you. And you think, you want very badly to kill for him.</p>
<p>You can only see his dark eyes, and you’re staring at something so terrifying and beautiful and extraordinary that you’re at a loss for words. This isn’t your run of the mill criminal. This is the Prince, and he’s the king of London.</p>
<p>“Good,” he murmurs, and then he closes the distance between you and him. His lips are on yours, and it’s so fucking good – so much better than all your one night stands – that you moan into his mouth. He bites your lip, and if you weren’t already bleeding, you would be now.</p>
<p>His tongue slides in, and he’s greedy and aggressive and demanding. You yield to him, allow him to do what he likes. He tastes like blood, but then you realize it’s your blood. Fuck.</p>
<p>You think if he doesn’t fuck you right then and there, you might explode. You’re ready to beg him for it, but then he pulls away and your brain fails you.</p>
<p>It’s him – the <em>Prince</em> – and he’s got your blood smeared on his lips and on his skin. You can’t help yourself – you whimper.</p>
<p>He watches you a moment longer, the searing blood contrasting with the inkiness of his hair and the paleness of his skin and the darkness of his eyes. It’s got to be the most breathtaking, seductive thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You want to tell him that but think he’ll probably kill you then.</p>
<p>He leaves without another word, and you’re left slumped against the cement pillar. Blood soaks your shirt, and your mouth tastes like copper, but you can still feel him kissing you. You know with certainty you’d kill anyone he wants if he would just kiss you again.</p>
<p>
  <strong>==</strong>
</p>
<p>His name is Severus Snape, and he’s the Prince. London is his, and you are now too. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my final work for the October series! I hope you have enjoyed the wide expanse of settings I have placed these two into - from world-renowned DJ's to murder husbands to frozen mornings outside of Grimmauld Palace. </p>
<p>It was a joy to write all of these, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed them as much as I did. </p>
<p>Sincerely, <br/>tts xx</p></blockquote></div></div>
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